


Not With A Bang.

by Lanna Michaels (lannamichaels)



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Methos Wins The Prize, Podfic Available, The Gathering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-02
Updated: 2008-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-03 00:53:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lannamichaels/pseuds/Lanna%20Michaels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the way the world ends. A Gathering fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not With A Bang.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from The Hollow Men by T. S. Eliot. This was written for the contrelamontre 89-minute random word challenge. The word was "book" from Good Omens. I started this, got 12 minutes in, and then was interrupted and had to pick it up again later. So while it was done in 89 minutes, they were not 89 continuous minutes.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Podfic by [](http://tinypinkmouse.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**tinypinkmouse**](http://tinypinkmouse.dreamwidth.org/) is [available here](http://amplificathon.livejournal.com/1047581.html). :D

This is the way the world ends: with a lost chronicle, pages torn out and the binding broken, falling from a dusty shelf in the back of a library, hitting the floor, the sound of which wakes the librarian, who follows the noise, and begins to read.

It takes a certain kind of mind to accept absurdities as fact. It takes a certain kind of mind to throw away all doubts and believe, in that crystal clear moment with the dust still settling around in the new world order, those absurdities that have kept one race hidden from the world since the dawn of time. These are the minds of those who Watch.

Here is Don Salzer, who traces the book back to the Watchers. Here is Adam Pierson, who finds another book and then the Watchers. Here is Joe Dawson, a man out of war, who finds another when he sought only peace. Here is Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.

Watch how they play.

There is Don Salzer, who is now dead, with his fingers reaching for a paper to write in his own blood a warning of Methos, telling Adam to run. There is Joe Dawson, who went happily to his death for his duty, who told Adam to run. There is Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, who made him flee.

Here are Kronos, Caspian, and Silas, who found him and molded him and made him one of their own. Here is Byron, who wrapped him in pretty words and prettier drugs, to keep him close. Here are the Immortals, who gave him passion. Here are the Watchers, who gave him fear.

Here is Adam Pierson, who watches Don's widow nearly ruin them all. Here is Adam Pierson, who stands before the Tribunal and dares them to think. Here is Adam Pierson, who hands Methos to the Watchers on a golden platter, and then watches his world fall away.

Here is how the world ends: with Don Salzer in a library in Madrid reading a chronicle in French about an Irish war hero; with Adam Pierson finding a chronicle he himself had planted, and then Don, and, behold, watch how the world falls away, until it is Methos, the sly fox, standing in a foyer, rocking back on his heels, and smiling at a historian. He, who says "come and see" and tears Europe asunder.

Here is Joe Dawson, a bruise forming on his cheek, who holds the wall with one hand with the strength to hold up the universe, and with the other beckoning Adam towards him. Here is Joe Dawson, sitting by a fire in Seacouver, playing solitaire, waiting for the knock that means survival. Here is Joe Dawson, watching two men spar, and not knowing who he wishes to live.

Here is Joe Dawson, putting pen to paper:

_So now we're in day fourteen of lousy weather. Adam has gone to the store to buy milk. He killed a guy after dinner last night, Sorry, didn't get a name. Adam thinks I should start drinking soy milk. Give a man a sword and he thinks he can play mother._

Here is the Tribunal, sitting in judgment. At their head, see Joe Dawson, battered by years and lousy weather and soy milk. In the witness chair, see Duncan MacLeod, late of the Clan MacLeod. Hear them shout. Hear them fight. Watch Duncan leave.

Here is Joe Dawson, putting pen to paper:

_So now we're in year fourteen of Adam's sulk. Even MacLeod won't tell me where he is. I'm having him tailed, but he'll lose them before the airport, so what's the point._

Here is how old lovers reunite: on a battlefield, with one's hands drenched in blood, and the other holding a white handkerchief, and grumbling "I didn't mean it like that", and hearing "I know" and "you look good" and not "I'm sorry" or "I love you", but knowing it just the same. Here is how they walk towards each other: like one is blind and the other in pain. Here is how they walk away: slowly, but together.

Here is Joe Dawson, too old for this crap, listening to Adam tell him lies enough to power a nuclear submarine. Here is Adam Pierson, with blood under his fingernails, weighing the good with the bad, wondering, planning, worrying. Here is Adam Pierson and here is Joe Dawson, and there, perhaps, there is understanding.

Here is Methos the Immortal, taking the book from the shelf and leafing through it, wasting time until Joe tells him to leave. Here is Methos the Immortal, pulled before the Tribunal, who listens and nothing else, until he agrees to take the assignment. Here is Methos the Immortal, on the pay rolls of the Watchers.

Here are the first generation of Watchers, rolling over in their graves. Here are the last generation of Watchers, hoping for him to save them all. Here is Joe Dawson, awarding him a field commission, and telling him to watch his head. Here is Methos the Watcher, and look, how he runs.

Here are Joe Dawson and Adam Pierson, here are secrets and lies and battle scars. Here are nightmares and pillow cases and being way too old for this shit. Here is a secret network of agents across the world, being chipped away. Here is the Immortals's mantra emblazoned across the sky. Here is a millennium of secrecy, no more.

This is how the Watchers fall: by decree.

There is Adam Pierson, in the night, calling out towards a challenger, and hearing the reply of an old friend. Here are myths walking the earth, looking for Methos and his head; here is Adam Pierson, forced to take up the sword, and he loves it, oh, how he loves it so.

Here is Joe Dawson, sharpening a sword in broad daylight on Main Street, USA. Here is Adam Pierson, shouting "Methos!" as he kills, as if he, too, were searching for a legend, the one who could save them all. Here is every Immortal in the world, and here is Adam Pierson, and here are two men who know the truth.

Watch Duncan MacLeod face an opponent and hear a dying cry for the great god Methos, protector of Immortals. Here is Duncan MacLeod. Watch him give chase.

Here is Adam Pierson and here is bloodlust. Here is a man of the times, his own and this one now. Here is a man born to hunt, running towards his prey. Here is a man and here is his sword and here is his primal scream, and here is Joe Dawson, who cleans his sword and tries to understand how on earth he let this happen.

Here are the nations of the world, trembling in fear of the Horseman.

Watch Duncan MacLeod walk the earth. Watch him search and watch him find and, now, watch them fight. Watch Joe Dawson, a man without options, shoot them both. Watch revival, watch fear, watch fights. Hear the mantra of the Immortals.

Oh, watch them fight.

This is how the world ends: on a warm spring day, two swordsmen bow to each other and attack. As noon turns to dusk, watch them parry, watch them fight, watch one die.

Watch Joe Dawson, in the sidelines, cradling his pistol like a child, wondering how he let this happen.

Watch Adam Pierson stand victorious. Watch the lightening find his blade. Watch the Quickening.

Hear him scream, perhaps in pain, perhaps in joy. Watch Joe empty a clip of bullets into his chest. Watch Adam fall and stand again, again and again. Watch Joe leave. And Adam follows, hunting his prey, his human, his victory.

This is how the penultimate Immortal dies: quickly.

Here is Joe Dawson, putting pen to paper:

_I should kill him and do the world a favor._

Here is Adam Pierson, with the power of every Immortal running through his veins, reach out and touch. Here is Adam Pierson, the oldest and now the last.

Here is Adam Pierson. Watch him breathe. Watch him smile. Watch him live.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Not With A Bang [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/313768) by [tinypinkmouse_podfic (tinypinkmouse)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinypinkmouse/pseuds/tinypinkmouse_podfic)




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